


A Not So Lonely Christmas

by mosslover



Category: Poldark - All Media Types, Return to Treasure Island (TV 1996)
Genre: Cafe AU, First Meeting, Flirting, Grief, Loneliness, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Mild Angst, Spells Gone Wrong, Wizarding World AU, hunting and mention of guns, minor character death (mention)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:41:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28206261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosslover/pseuds/mosslover
Summary: Collection of 4 short-ish, Christmas-themed DarkHawk stories, written for Gathering 12 days 2020.Plus one Darkhawk story from the 2019 event.
Relationships: Jim Hawkins/Ross Poldark
Comments: 13
Kudos: 21
Collections: GatheringFiKi - 12 Days Of Christmas 2020





	1. The Ghost of the Forest

Earlier that morning, Jim had spied the first grey hair in Ross’ dark-brown mane as they lay in bed, prolonging the inevitable.

Still, with a heavy heart, Jim had tried to persuade Ross to stay.

“You’ve been gone a lot this year - and the weather could turn any day, we haven’t had a proper snowstorm yet. It’s just a matter of time-“

“It will hold.” Ross’ voice sounded rough, as if he’d just woken up, but they both knew he’d hardly slept during the hunting season. “I’ll only stay a week and then I’ll be done, I promise.”

Jim sighed and tried a different line of approach, knowing it’d be just as futile. “Zacky told me again he’s barely keeping up. The Christmas sales are booming, you’re needed here.”

Ross bit his lip. “He can handle it. He has help this year too, I made sure of it.”

Yes, Ross had made sure. He’d hired an assistant for his assistant. So he could disappear into the woods for days on end, searching for…

A ghost.

===

Ross kissed Jim by the jeep’s door, fleetingly, guilt in the shadows on his face.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he said, casting an eye at the high, scattered clouds on the horizon. The forecast wasn’t bad per se, but at this time of year, it could change at the drop of a hat.

“Don’t take any risks,” Jim said, as emphatically as he dared. Ross always told Jim roughly where he’d be going, but that could be as tentative as the forecast – a chance sighting, a marked tree, or a single track on the ground could change Ross’ course and render any plan futile.

Ross tossed his rifle on the passenger seat and looked Jim in the eye then. He did, Jim had to admit, look truly rueful.

“I love you.”

It was almost an apology, an admission on Ross’ part that he was aware of the strain his obsession was placing on their relationship.

“I love you too,” Jim replied, his throat full.

He wasn’t sure why moments like this were never enough for Ross to stay.

It was complicated. And Jim did understand. He just wasn’t sure if this could ever end well, if Ross could ever let the ghosts of the past rest.

He watched him drive off, a heavy weight settling over his stomach.

===

The eight-foot Douglas fir, tall and proud in the center of their timber house’s living room, had been decorated a few weeks ago. Jim liked to do it early and keep the tree for as long as possible, as if the twinkly lights and ornaments could erase the memories of his own miserable Christmases past. Or his present misery, for that matter - he had put up the ornaments alone again this year, though they’d chosen the tree together at least. Ross had later gushed about Jim’s knack for decorating and they’d sipped whiskey and made out on the shaggy rug in front of the tree.

Now the fir glinted there festively in a valiant attempt to project cheer throughout a lonely house. There were presents underneath its soft-green branches, ten or so wrapped boxes they’d each placed there when the other wasn’t looking.

This would be their sixth Christmas together, third in the house they shared. And each time, Ross had stopped scouring the woods closer to Christmas, last year coming home just four days before.

When would he be back this year?

As Jim got ready for work, he tried to push the thought from his mind.

A part of him still hoped Ross would one day magically get over this and stop chasing ghosts in the forests and high mountain meadows

But each year, that hope had gotten smaller and smaller.

===

A week passed and grew into eight days, then nine.

On the tenth day, Jim couldn’t take it anymore. After a meeting with the logging company, he called his boss and requested an extra two days off before the holidays for an urgent matter. His boss knew Ross, had known his father, and didn’t ask any questions.

Jim stopped by downtown, by Ross’ workshop tucked in an alley off the main street. On the way, he passed a couple in the street – bundled up in their winter coziest, they were strolling along, peeking into the festively adorned shop windows, sipping on hot chocolate. A small-town Christmas cliché, he knew, but Jim couldn’t lie to himself – he craved it. With Ross.

Glancing past the couple, Jim spotted craft jewelry from a gifted local artisan in the windows’ display, and next to it a few items from Ross’ workshop. They sold well, the primitive but elegant designs popular with the tourists and townsfolk alike.

Jim looked away, turned the corner into the alley.

Zacky paused his work and assured Jim that the worst in the workshop was behind them, and that the assistant had held up well enough. They were both overworked but the present-buying frenzy was finally waning, with only the late shoppers out on the ‘hunt’. Jim smiled but the word Zacky had chosen resonated with the sense of disquiet in him.

===

Ross was still not back when Jim returned.

Just the tree, lights blinking bright and cheerful.

The idea of Christmas alone made his stomach clench. _Goddamit_ , _Ross_ -

Supplies already packed, he set out after him. There were hunting stands placed throughout the woods and Jim knew which Ross planned on using once he’d parked his jeep at the end of the last road. The stands offered shelter and a good view – exactly what Ross needed.

He walked until nightfall and slept in one of the stands the first night. It was nippy but bearable. In the darkness, he lay there, staring at the rough-built roof, thinking of how he and Ross had met, the haunted look Ross had carried about him then. It had gradually receded now as years passed, but it reemerged full force when fall arrived, and it seemed to reach deeper every year.

Jim thought back to their happy times, the in-between times. The year Ross had come back in springtime, under a pretext but really to see Jim. The first time they’d shared a bed till morning. The summer Ross opened his workshop downtown and moved into Jim’s small timber house.

The endless chats by the fireplace, long into the night, shadows and light dancing on the exposed wood beams of Jim’s – and now Ross’ – home.

But somewhere deep inside, Jim had always wondered if Ross’ main motivation to stay was the two of them or if it had been more for the answers Ross thought the woods outside the town held.

And if not finding them might one day drive Ross away.

===

He hiked on. The day bordering on frigid, but it was beautiful. As Jim went, he ticked of the hunting stands he’d passed, until only two were left on the route. Jim was a fast walker, and he’d made time to appraise the trees he passed as he went. The dominant beeches with their pale, sturdy trunks. The solitary birches, the quaking clusters of aspens. He noted broken tree limbs from past winter storms, tell-tale signs of drying out and disease, evidence of animal damage. These trees were technically still his responsibility as the area’s conservationist, but here the woods mostly took care of themselves and even dead trees had value for the ecosystem. There was usually no need to interfere.

He catalogued a few areas in his mind to check again in the spring and kept walking. The next hunting stand was empty – Jim’s heart sped up as he measured how much daylight he had left against the distance to the last one stand. He hurried on, not wanting so spend the night out in the open. Ross better be at that last stand, or Jim didn’t know where else to search. If Ross had decided to come back a different way, they’d completely miss each other. But even for Ross, that would be a bit reckless. Though not impossible. If he’d spotted what he’d been hoping all these years, though – he’d follow, Jim was sure of it.

When the sun had all but disappeared into the trees to Jim’s left, he finally saw the last wooden structure up ahead, across a grassy field that sloped up to a new stretch of the forest. Jim could just barely make out its outline against the dark woods and it seemed alone and undisturbed - but then something stirred inside. The bright blue of Ross’ jacket.

A long-held weight fell off Jim’s shoulders. Hands bracketing his mouth, he called out - and a few minutes later he was standing face to face with a wide-eyed, breathless Ross. Ross that smelled exactly like Jim would expect after more than a week out in nature – musk and sweat mixed with pine needles and earth. Jim was well used to that particular mix by now: it was what Ross smelled like whenever he returned home. Mostly, it was comforting.

“Jim,” Ross said. He had a subdued, unhappy look about him – but he also seemed calmer than when he’d left. “Has it been –“

“Ten days, and you promised only a week,” Jim said, keeping his voice level. “I was worried.”

Ross lowered his head, shadows of guilt returning. “I know – I… lost track.” Then he looked up again and past Jim, his eyes clearer once more. “You hiked, all the way here… For me?”

He seemed touched, and Jim wanted to shake him and embrace him at the same time.

“Why else?” he replied. “I see trees at work every day.” He sighed. “When were you going to come back? The weather is supposed to turn bad on Christmas Eve – that’s in two days.”

He wanted to add: _“Why are you doing this to me?”_ but he refrained, maybe out of sheer relief of finding Ross. Maybe because he knew this didn’t have much to do with himself, that Ross was, well and simply put, torn deep inside.

Ross looked around, though there was not much to see now except for the outline of the forest and the pale sliver of the Moon rising in the East. “I was going to start back soon. I was hoping I’d make it back by Christmas - I wouldn’t leave you to spend it alone.”

He knew why Jim was so hung up on the holidays, why he hated spending them alone. Growing up poor and fatherless, Jim’s mother broken by it until she too passed away: it had been a bleak childhood and Jim overcompensated for it these days with countless lights and decorations everywhere, with food.

Ross had been there for him for a while now, fulfilling that need for harmony and security, but they both still seemed to be dragging their own past behind them.

He hoped it wouldn’t pull them apart.

===

They spent the night cramped on the floor of the hunting stand, huddled each in his own sleeping bag. Jim woke at dawn and found Ross already up, staring wistfully out at the forest edge through the gap cut between the boards. His rifle was propped in the corner, not loaded.

Jim frowned. Hunting season was technically over, but Ross was usually ready, moment’s notice all he would afford himself in case his quarry appeared.

“I’m sorry you’ve had no luck again this year,” Jim said quietly.

Ross shrugged. He was toying with something in his hand – Jim recognized it by its unmistakable glint. It was a golden bullet – the one found loaded in Ross’ father’s rifle during his last hunt.

The fated hunt from which the famous hunter Joshua Poldark hadn’t returned. The hunt that had taken place right here, in these very woods.

“I don’t even know why I keep coming here - it’s not like it will bring him back.” Ross looked down at the bullet, then up at Jim. “I thought if I’d find what he’d found, if I’d proved that what he’d seen had been real…”

Jim bit his lip.

The fabled, majestic deer rumored to live around here but never confirmed. A fifty pointer, some claimed – including Ross’ dad who had written about in his last journal, the one he’d kept during that fated hunt.

Not many people believed such a magnificent buck could be real, though; they’d thought Joshua Poldark had seen things. Maybe after he’d had the fall that had ultimately killed him, not far from here. His final scribbles had been hard to read…

Ross had believed. And yet the buck remained elusive, to Ross and everyone else.

And Ross was the only one who was still trying to prove it could exist – as if it would somehow clear his father’s name. As if his death would then be easier to bear.

===

The hike back was quiet. Ross was subdued and Jim didn’t press him: he was watching for signs of bad weather. The clouds gathering ahead of them worried him.

Ross worried him as well. But first they had to get home.

===

The storm started when they were two miles from their vehicles, and Jim followed the lights of Ross’ jeep home through the raging elements. Stumbling into the hallway of their house, slamming the door shut on the wild winter outside, they threw off their wet and half-frozen clothes and climbed straight into a hot shower.

“I’m sorry,” Ross said into Jim’s hair as he massaged shampoo into his scalp. “I risked both of our lives because… because of a ghost.”

“I know you need closure,” Jim said, turning around to face him. “But maybe there isn’t any. Maybe some things are just don’t have answers.” He took a deep breath. “I can help you bear it if you let me. But you can’t keep on living in the past, Ross. I need you here, in the present.”

Ross said nothing, but he leaned into Jim and held on to him, until they were both warm again.

===

The town looked peaceful under fresh snow the next day, but Jim felt more jittery than ever. It was Christmas Eve, and dusk was slowly rolling in. They’d cleaned up their gear the night before and in the morning, made breakfast together, though Ross had remained mostly quiet.

Then he left on an errand, and he still hadn’t returned.

Jim swore to himself he wouldn’t go looking for him again. Wherever he was now, Ross would have to sort himself out, no matter what it would mean for the two of them. For Jim.

It was dark out and the fish lay in a coat of breadcrumbs on the counter when the front door clicked open. The sound of Ross’ boots shaking off snow reached Jim’s ears; a draft snaked in, teasing out goosebumps on the skin of Jim’s calves.

“Hey – sorry I’m late. I’ll help you in a minute.” Ross walked in, boot-free, all purposeful. He smelled different now as Jim lifted his head automatically to receive a kiss: clean-shaven and sharp like smoke. Had he been at the workshop, tying things up after his last absence?

“Alright.” Jim smiled and busied himself with a frying pan and oil, a few spices from the cabinet. The potatoes were nearly done, judging by the aroma emanating from the oven.

Behind his back, Jim could hear footsteps retreat momentarily and approach again. Then Ross was there, taking the utensils from Jim’s hand. “I’ll finish here – you’ve done enough.”

Jim went and poured them both a drink. There was something different about Ross, Jim thought, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what.

===

Candlelight reflected in their wine glasses as they ate. Easy chatter passed back and forth, but Jim couldn’t miss how once in a while, Ross would steal furtive glances at Jim, at the tree, the fire. Was he still weighted down by guilt? Had he come to some decision while out – wherever it was he’d been all day?

They finished and cleared the table. Ross went to stand by the tree, sipping on his drink, and it was then that Jim noticed a new gift underneath it, wrapped in purple paper and adorned with a gold ribbon.

He looked at Ross questioningly, and Ross bent down to retrieve it, handing it to Jim with an almost sheepish expression.

“I – this is why I was out today.”

Jim accepted it, the paper smooth in his hands. Carefully, he unwrapped it. The flat box was hiding another, smaller box, and this one was velvet-cushioned inside. Jim caught a glint of familiar gold, but this object was different than the one he’d seen just two days before in a hunting stand, in Ross’ restless fingers; this one was a perfectly round golden band.

“Ross…” Jim breathed.

Ross burst into an anxious explanation. “You know the jeweler on the main street - Jinny? She came in for me today and melted the golden bullet in order to make this.” He paused, and then gently took the small box from Jim’s hands, picking up the ring.

“I realized you were right. I can’t keep on chasing ghosts and rumors. I need to live in the here and now. With you.”

Jim stared at him, speechless. Cautious happiness blossomed in his chest, and the symbolism of what Ross was giving him wasn’t lost on him.

“If that’s what you want as well?” Ross added, hesitant now. “I know I have been… absent, and neglectful of our relationship. But I’m ready to leave the past where it belongs. I said a final goodbye to my father out there, and I’m going to sell my rifle. I’m done.”

“Ross – “ Jim searched his face, looking to confirm the words in Ross’ eyes. There were no shadows hiding there anymore. “I didn’t expect this, but I – I want this. Want you.”

“Then can I-?” Ross said, holding up the ring.

“Yeah.”

The gold band slid onto Jim’s finger with ease, and they both looked down at it for a moment.

Jim kissed Ross; they settled on the rug in front of the twinkling spruce and didn’t leave its company for hours. Discarded wrapping paper and ribbons soon lay scattered around them, and a while later hastily discarded clothing joined the fray.

Jim noticed a few more gray strands in Ross’ hair as they held onto one another afterward – and he smiled.

There’d be more of them, and he’d be happy to count them. Because now the past was finally resting were it should and it hadn’t pulled them apart.

The future beckoned.


	2. Out of December Rain

It’s a rainy winter day when they meet; a few days before Christmas Eve when everyone would have wished for the sheets of water descending onto the town to be snow instead. St. Luke’s across the river is blurred around the edges, the riverside lights smudged and soft when one looks through the large front windows of café Grace.

Inside, it smells of freshly ground beans - of course - mixed with oranges and wet dog. Some customer has brought a drenched but gorgeous Rhodesian Ridgeback along and Demelza has magicked a blanket out of somewhere, to help dry the poor damp beast. It’s now snoozing under the unused piano, only the tip of a nose and one paw poking out.

Demelza is responsible for the orange aroma herself: she’d sliced up oranges and let them dry, then hung them on strings along the walls. Combined with holiday lights, it gives the whole place a warm and cozy atmosphere, and Ross reminds himself again to give Demelza a larger bonus than last year, if he can find the money somewhere.

It’s busier than usual that late December afternoon when they meet – probably people popping in to get out of the rain. Ross is brewing coffee and plating pastries like on an assembly line, and Demelza and Drake bring them out to the little tables. The café is dim and festive, that hushed, December dusk full of mystery and anticipation hanging in the air.

Ross doesn’t anticipate much to be different for himself, except that he could really use the till to be full at the end of the day. So he doesn’t notice the young-ish blond man right away. Once he does, though, he finds his gaze returning to him often between the lattes and swan puff pastries and eggnog-cream filled chocolate cones. He happens to catch him looking up as Demelza delivers him a peppermint mocha Ross has just made, in a large red mug capped with a mountain of homemade whipped cream. The man smiles at her, and Ross feels a ping of something akin to longing in his chest.

Then the man’s companion arrives, a tall, groomed, graying man. And Ross snuffs the longing quickly out.

Over the next hour he can’t help but notice that there are hardly any smiles to be spied on the blond man’s handsome face. And Ross realizes, with some surprise, that it’s not a lovers’ or even friends’ meeting happening there; an interview is unfolding at that particular table. The tall greying man across from the blond has a recording device perched against the snow globe Demelza has insisted on placing in the middle of every little table; a Nikon that means business takes a photo of the blond man every once in a while, and a tablet on the table holds, presumably, questions and notes. The tall man looks almost severe during the whole interview, unsmiling.

Ross is baffled as to who the blond man could be. And what he has done to earn the displeasure of the journalist, whose facial expression now reminds Ross of a reprimanding parent.

He watches, strangely invested, bemused, as the blond man goes from relaxed to exasperated, frustrated, and finally resigned. When the interview is over, the two men shake hands, but it seems far from cordial. The tall greying man packs up his shiny toys and strides out right into the rain, while the blond man remains, only now remembering his peppermint mocha again. The whipped cream is still sitting on top, deflated and sad. And Ross doesn’t need to see the slight disappointment on the man’s face to guess that it has gone completely cold.

It’s a spurt of a moment decision. Demelza has just delivered a set of hot chocolates to a pair of lovebirds by the door, and Ross, a new peppermint mocha already in hand, gestures to her as she’s making her way back between the tables, nimble like a willow twig. “Cover for me for a sec?” he murmurs and she nods, a single rising eyebrow the only evidence of her curiosity.

Ross sets his jaw and goes.

“Here.” The mug clinks softly against the table, and when the blond man looks up in astonishment, Ross quickly adds: “I noticed that your coffee has gone cold, so here’s a new one on the house.”

He’s rewarded with another of those genuine smiles, even as the man’s eyes go wide in surprise and gratitude. “That’s - that’s really kind of you, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I couldn’t help noticing that you were having a bit of a frustrating time during – an interview?” He clears his throat, self-consciousness rising at outing himself like that. “Not that I was snooping or anything. Just… happened to notice, from behind there.” He points towards the counter.

The blond man gives a surprisingly cheerful laugh, and that’s it, that longing is back in Ross’ chest, with a roar this time.

“Well, I knew what I was getting myself into,” the blond man admits with ease, though his smile turns rueful at the edges. “I just wasn’t prepared for his opinion of me to be that strong, in the negative way. My mistake, really.”

“Oh? What do you mean?” Ross frowns, and then catches himself. “Not that it’s any of my business…”

“You’re fine,” the blond man waves it off with a genuine grin. “It’s not like it’s something world-changing, really. Just… in my line of work, they all think I’m a bit of a lunatic right now.”

Ross is more intrigued by the second. And damn that expressive face of his because the blond man can see it clear as day. He gives another laugh.

“It’s sort of a project I’m working on - a search I’m about to embark on. Most people think I’m wasting my time with it, that our sources are unreliable at best, but I truly do think we can find it, with a bit of luck and brains.”

“Find what?” Ross inquires, curiosity now openly painted all over his face. The first thought that flies into his mind, as far as controversial quests go, is something far-out, like the Yeti, or the Chupacabra.

But the man in front of him looks more rational than that.

“We’re trying to locate the wreck of the Hispaniola.” The blond man watches Ross, then laughs again at Ross’ blank expression.

Christ, he’s far too handsome for Ross’ long-untested defenses.

“I’m afraid I haven’t heard of it,” Ross confesses, and without thinking twice about it (or about Demelza’s likely reaction), he sits down in the recently vacated chair at the table. “What is it?”

Jim grins. “A ship. A pirate ship, to be precise, from the eighteenth century. And it’s a bit of a controversial issue, honestly - there are only anecdotal mentions of its actual existence throughout history, and its final fate and location are a mystery. Which is why this particular guy thinks I’m wasting money, time, and my own intelligence on what most experts think is essentially a fairy tale.”

“And you’re going to try to locate this ship?” Ross shifts in his seat, fascinated. And relieved that it’s not the Chupacabra after all – and instead a mystery from the world’s naval past.

“I am. I’ve just put together a small team and scraped together funding through a grant and some donations. And the puny sales of my book.”

Ross is impressed. “You’ve written a book about this ship?”

“Well, about my research. It’s not just the Hispaniola. Other famous shipwrecks and lost ships of the Caribbean.”

“That’s bloody awesome.” Ross is about to say he doesn’t think the man in front of him is crazy at all when his gaze strays to the counter and finds Demelza staring at him. She gestures to him covertly, with mild urgency in her eyes, and for Demelza, that’s saying something. 

“Excuse me,” he turns to the blond man, sliding back out of the seat. “I’d love to hear more but it seems I’m needed.”

“Yeah, of course – I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble with your boss.”

“Technically, I’m the boss, but sometimes you’d think it was the other way around.” Ross laughs and the man’s grey-blue eyes sparkle at that. A moment passes between them, a shock of mutual attraction, but it’s too quickly over. And as he strides back to the counter, Ross is flushed and wishes that for once, all of his patrons would suddenly decide to not need anything for the next half hour so that he might find out more about the Hispaniola and the man writing books about old ships.

Demelza looks apologetic when he steps back behind the counter, plates already stacked on her hands. “Far be it from me to keep you from interesting, handsome strangers… but Drake’s leaving to pick up Morwenna from work and-“

“Oh, it’s five already? Shoot, of course, sorry.” He checks the tablet screen for pending orders, and starts immediately on the pair of lattes at the top.

Demelza smirks. “What’s his name?”

“I have no idea,” Ross tries to sound breezy, but he realizes he really _doesn’t_ know, and that he wants to know, and that if the blond man leaves, Ross can hardly run after him into the rain and chase him to ask.

As much as Demelza would enjoy that particular spectacle.

“Want me to find out for you?” Demelza’s eyes glint. “I can stop by his table, all innocent-like…”

“Don’t,” Ross hisses. “Snoop, I mean. You can ask if he wants anything else, of course. His second coffee was on the house, by the way.”

“Ooh, on the house, was it?” She’s seen right through him of course.

“I thought we were busy,” he reminds her and she smirks and swirls around, lattes in hand, and off onto the floor.

Of course, not two minutes later she’s by the blond man’s table, all smiles and promised innocence. When she comes back with the old, cold coffee, she’s beaming like the star of Bethlehem. “I didn’t get his name, but he’s definitely handsome, and now he knows _your_ name.”

Ross sighs. He should have known –

“And he ordered a sandwich,” she goes on, “so he’s staying a bit longer. When it slows down, you should definitely head over-“

“Demelza,” Ross stops her in her tracks, deciding direct approach is the only way. “I told you, no more matchmaking.”

She puts on a fake-pout while adding whipped cream to a hot chocolate and sprinkling cinnamon on it with efficient flicks of her wrists. “Why not? It’s been years, Ross. Years!”

“And you’re still banned.” Ross scans the updated order screen again, but he can’t help stealing a quick glance toward the blond man. He’s is relieved that this particular patron isn’t leaving yet; in fact, the man seems to have brought out a laptop and is typing away, with a slight, focused frown on his face.

Somehow, Ross finds it just as attractive as the grin.

Better not let Demelza find out.

The rush winds down an hour later, though the rain outside is not showing any signs of exhausting itself. And Ross can no longer resist the pull towards the blond man’s table, as much as he would like to think himself a man ruled by rational thought. No: he’s on tenterhooks like he’s eighteen again as he scans the café to see if now’s the right time. Demelza seem to be in no immediate danger of being overwhelmed: she’s not whizzing around anymore ultra-fast and has even found the time to straighten up a sagging string of lights and shake a snow globe from one of the tables to make the flakes swirl around the festive deer inside.

Ross walks over to the blond man, in his head just to collect the empty sandwich plate - which Demelza had left suspiciously alone.

He’s greeted with the blue-grey gaze before he can even make it all the way there, and a second later a smile appears.

“Can I get you anything else?” Ross asks quickly, though he feels too transparent in his intentions.

“I’m good for now, the food was great, though.” The blond man glances around the café, then outside into the wet evening. “With this non-stop rain, I was thinking I could do a bit of work here. When are you closing, by the way? I didn’t notice when I came in – is it soon?”

“Not till eight,” Ross informs him. “You’re welcome to stay, though I can’t promise the rain will move out by then. It seems awfully determined.” He reaches out for the plate where just a few crumbs remain from the sandwich and chips, and only then does he notice a few books stacked next to the man’s tablet. He wonders if the one he’d authored is among them, but maybe asking would be too intrusive.

The blond man doesn’t seem to notice the direction of Ross’ gaze. “Your server Demelza said that you own this place? It’s really nice, and a beautiful view.”

Ross wonders how Demelza has managed to slip this information innocuously into sandwich order conversations. “Thanks. It’s been a ride, honestly, with renovations and setbacks, like the river flooding us out a few years back. So that was more renovations after that. I’m in debt up to my neck, but we’re still here.”

“The flood got you? That’s bad,” the blond grimaces. “Hopefully the river will behave from now on.”

“Yeah, I hope,” Ross nods. “I feel like I haven’t had a day off since that happened, but it’s been worth it.”

“I know what you mean. This was supposed to be my first day off in like a month, but I’m leaving right after Christmas, so.”

“For your search?” Ross is tempted to sit down again, but he doesn’t want to be a distraction. Or too obvious.

“Yes.” The man laughs. “Hopefully I won’t just confirm everyone’s opinion that I’m completely delusional. But if I don’t find anything, at least it’ll still be an adventure.”

“Sounds like it.” Ross imagines a warm ocean, beaches somewhere far off with palm trees and sunshine and perpetual warmth. “I could use one of those.”

“This looks like an adventure too, keeping this place successful. Takes dedication, I’m sure.”

“That it does,” Ross admits. “Early mornings, all year long… I’m not complaining, mind you, I love this place, but I miss traveling sometimes.”

The man nods. “Always a bit of a trade-of, isn’t it.” He seems a bit wistful about the statement, his eyes on Ross. “I guess that’s life.”

“Yeah.”

Ross can’t justify lingering any more, unless he’s prepared to ask for the man’s number, or some other contact info, and he can’t think any elegant ways to do it on the fly. So instead, he gives a grimace that hopefully passes off as a smile and gestures towards the counter. “Well, I best get back. Good luck with finding the ship.”

“Same to you, with this place,” the man says. He too looks like he’d like to add something, but then he just smiles, that wistfulness still in his gaze. 

Ross curses to himself as he loads the dishwasher in the backroom, then goes to fetch fresh milk and cream from the stockroom. Maybe there will be another moment, he tells himself, another excuse to speak?

When he gets back, all he sees is the blond man’s back, exiting café Grace. The rain had just stopped outside, as abruptly as if someone had turned off a faucet.

The street glistens, freshly-washed and draped in soft evening light. It looks beautiful but Ross’ face falls, and he briefly does consider chasing the guy.

But wouldn’t Demelza have a field day with that.

Instead, he busies himself with wiping down the counter, trying to push away the disappointment and the _should-have-said-something-no-matter-how-awkward_ voice in the back of his head.

Then Demelza walks up, and something solid lands on the freshly cleaned surface next to Ross’ hand. He looks up, startled, and her expression is that of triumph.

“He left this,” she says, eyes dancing. “I found it on the table where he sat.”

“Shit, did you see which way he went?” Ross is ready to run now - this must be one of the guy’s books he’d laid out earlier. This is it, Ross’ chance to go after him –

“No, dummy, he left this for you,” Demelza corrects him, rolling her eyes. “Look inside.”

Ross opens the glossy cover. On the very first page, words are scribbled in green ink.

_Ross -  
(your server said that’s your name) -  
thanks again for the second coffee.  
Since you miss adventures, here are a few, even if just on paper.  
And in case you’re interested, I’d be happy share news about the Hispaniola search – and to hear in return how the café is doing, as well as its handsome owner. Here’s my email – drop me a line if you want.  
Best,  
Jim_

Ross stares, flushed, and Demelza laughs, and then Ross closes the book to look at it properly again. It says _The Caribbean’s lost ships and shipwrecks_ , and the author is _Jim Hawkins_ , and just like that, Ross is grinning so hard his face might come apart.

“Obviously, you need to write to him,” Demelza states, beaming harder than even he.

“I’m going to read the book first and then I’ll see,” Ross says just to tease her and she rolls her eyes.

“Oh my god, if you don’t write to him by tomorrow, I will.” She tries to grab the book but he snatches it out of reach.

It’s all the answer she needs.

Two years, later, Ross is the first to know.

It’s Christmas time again, and the café smells exactly the same: fresh-ground beans and oranges, though this time the wet dog aroma is not present. St. Luke’s cathedral is perfectly outlined against the grey sky outside, though once in a while, a stray snowflake floats by on the breeze.

Ross’ phone vibrates on the counter and he pauses the latte machine when a familiar name appears on the screen.

“Demelza, can you take over for a minute?” he says, smiling already.

She sighs, somewhere between exasperation and indulgence. She knows, of course, from the ringtone.

Ross hurries to the back. “Hello?” he announces himself, and Jim’s grin is audible through the phone, the sun shining right through from much warmer parts of the earth. 

“Babe, we did it,” Jim says, simple and straightforward like it’s any other day, and at first Ross doesn’t realize what he’s referring to.

Then it clicks and he blurts out: “Oh my god, you mean – the ship?!”

“Oh yes, I do mean the ship, we’ve found the goddamn Hispaniola.” Jim laughs in confirmation. “Just this morning, right after we got in the water. And she’s fucking beautiful, Ross.”

“Oh, I can believe she is – wow.” Ross has to take a breath to compose himself. “So, you really did it, Jim. I’m so thrilled for you, congratulations.”

“I hope Demelza is ready to take over the café for a while, because you’re coming with me in the new year to meet her,” Jim says. “The Hispaniola, obviously, not Demelza.”

“You sure you want to leave her now? After looking for her for so long?” Ross would understand if Jim stayed where he was, even if they hadn’t seen each other in months and Ross was looking forward to a shared Christmas in his flat above the café.

“I’m sure.” Jim’s voice doesn’t betray any doubt, only endless excitement. “She’s been there for two hundred years; she’ll last three more weeks. Besides, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Ross peeks into the café, sees Demelza whiz past the door to the back. “I better get back to the floor, I need to stay in Demelza’s good graces if I’ll be asking her to manage the place for a few weeks.”

“She’ll do grand,” Jim says, assured. “And you better get ready to finally have an adventure.”

“You’re my adventure,” Ross replies, and grins into the phone as he strides back. The scent of oranges and coffee beans envelopes him, and he loves it but he’s ready to discover something new for a while.

Demelza looks up from the latte machine and he puts the phone down and raises both eyebrows at her.

“So, how would you like to get rid of me for a few weeks next month?”

She beams, and it’s all the answer he needs.


	3. Mirrie Dancers

For the first time since this long year has started and his heart got betrayed and bruised, Ross feels something akin to peace.

In the arms of a stranger. Well, not a stranger anymore - a temporary neighbor, then a friend of sorts.

Jim stirs on the bed, his eyes like sleepy seas, like Cornwall sky in summer. “Come back next year,” he says, head propped on forearm. “For the fire festivals, and the Viking museum is actually open come spring, and there’s a lighthouse all the way up north-”

Ross wants to come, and not just for all the places to be seen. Jim seems to be actually inviting him, not tempting a tourist back to admire some more sights.

Earlier tonight, they’ve hiked over the knobby hill, to watch the Mirrie Dancers light the sky. That’s what the Northern Lights are called, on Shetlands, where Jim’s lived since he was a boy.

The two of them lay on a blanket, on the snow-covered ground, Jim explaining that snow rarely stays this long.

But for now, winter means business. It’s freezing, the crispy snow here to stay.

Ross still takes off his glove and touches Jim’s face, the stubble covering his chin and cheeks. It’s prickly-smooth and Jim smiles, but his eyes are veiled and cautious for a moment.

“No one’s looked at me like that in a while,” he says. Ross kisses him, and Jim makes a sound that slams the door of Ross’ soul apart.

Ross hadn’t come here to find love. But he might have found it anyway.

An exile, self-imposed, was what he’d had in mind: a run-and-hide from frantic Christmas with family and an ex around the corner. The dog Ross let him take is still an unfilled hole in Ross’ days.

Days spent reading, and pulling out the paints that he’d so long shunned, were all he’d hoped to get. Some room to breathe, in a tiny house on the Shetland’s coast, in a rented refuge from the season of supposed joy.

Snow blew in a days after he'd arrived. And on one gusty day, just as Ross settles at the shore to paint the gorgeous view, a dog bounds over from the neighbor’s distant house.

“Sailor!” the owner tries his best. “Come back, you big ‘ole goof!” But the dog sails past commands and right at Ross, right into Ross’ open paints. Midnight blue sprays across the pristine, furry coat.

“Now you’ve done it,” says Ross, and rushes in to prevent an even larger work of art.

“Not quite the canvas I’ve been hoping for,” he tells the neighbor.

There’s no room for shame in the dog’s excited face. Both men shake their heads, and then shake each other’s hand.

Sailor’s washed back to pristine white, and they wave off the other’s apologies and laugh.

Grateful that this did not start a scene, Ross remembers days of not-so-distant past. When that would have been otherwise, when every small offense was a catastrophe in his house.

But Jim – the neighbor – is genuine and kind and takes the paint disaster well in stride.

His smile makes Ross wish he’d practiced painting more.

They strike a friendship; Ross’ exile is not so lonely anymore.

Sailor sprints the distance between the houses at every chance, adopting Ross as if _he_ were a stray. Jim tries in vain to call him off.

Ross walks Sailor back, and reassures Jim that he doesn’t mind the visitor at all.

They stop to chat, every chance they get. Ross mentions Ruby, the bulldog he’d let go. He dares confess the reason for his exile, and Jim with perfect sympathy shares struggles of his own. And often, the talks they start don’t quite know when to end.

Christmas comes and goes. Jim invites Ross to his family’s Christmas day, but Ross would rather not encroach.

He paints and reads and sleeps the best in years. And nearly every night, he and Jim find reasons to talk more. And laugh, and muse on life, and feed a growing spark.

The year is almost out.

Jim drags Ross uphill one clear near-polar night. They watch the sky light up, in swirls of purple, green, and pink. Sailor runs around, tracing his own circles in the snow.

In utter awe at the dancers in the sky, Ross still finds himself more drawn to their reflection on Jim’s face.

And when Jim turns to him, a question in his eyes, Ross finally gives in.

It’s not what Ross’d thought would happen, when he’d clicked the BOOK NOW square. He thought he’d spend the weeks alone, sorting himself out, bracing to restart his life when he comes back. Now he’s got his arms around a man who works on ships by day and knows these islands like the back of his own hand.

Ross wants to know him more, tease the lonely aches from Jim’s heart. How did it happen – how from healing himself did he get to healing someone else? But he likes how it feels when Jim leans into him and smiles, when Ross’ hands twist the patterns on Jim’s dark blue sweater until they get to skin.

“You should come back next year,” Jim says again, with emphasis on should. “And if Maeve’s place is rented out, you should just stay at mine.” He pauses, and then gives a hopeful smile. “Or just come stay here, either way.”

“Stealing Maeve’s customers now?” Ross pokes in fun, and Jim gives a bigger grin.

“She’d understand. Come summer, her place does fill up anyway.”

Ross would rather fill Jim’s house, share these talks and hugs and quiet, cozy nights.

“Then I should definitely come. Spare Sailor the constant sprints across the field.”

As if agreeing, a fluffy tail smack the floor – once, twice, then faster three more times. 

“I think he approves,” Jim points out, then pulls Ross back under the sheets.

Above the roof, the Mirrie Dancers shimmer on.

And Ross’ heart joins in; a quiet, content hum.


	4. The Midnight Present

Jim’s almost done studying an old hairbrush – only a few notes left to jot down on the parchment – when a large shadow swooping down over the rooftops catches his attention. He jumps up, hairbrush momentarily forgotten, and rushes to throw the attic window open so that the familiar great horned owl can get in.

The bird extends a clawed foot, with a letter addressed to Jim in a familiar scrawling script attached to it. Jim grins and thanks Dustbunny, watching it hop-fly to the cage on the other side of Jim’s study for an hour’s rest before heading back. It’s a long trek from here to the Alps, where Ross is attending training as a part of the new _Initiative for International Cooperation of Aurors_.

Jim tears open the seal and a sheet of folded, ink-spattered parchment slides out.

_Jim!  
First of all – miss you like hell. But what else is new?_

_What’s not new is that we got more snow this morning. Hence the delayed letter - it was quite a storm._

_Yesterday was fucking exhausting. We were on mixed teams, trying to practice a tactical mission around a lake. It was beautiful out there, but that was about my only takeaway. I didn’t understand a word of what anyone was saying. None of us can do the translating spells worth a shit, so it was a total mess, and the French guy kept hitting on me in the middle of it. I think. The kid from Spain fell into the lake and had to be fished out, and we lost our Polish Auror for a while but found her up in a tree later. She claims she’d told us she’d be acting as the lookout._

_In short, we all returned semi-frozen and got yelled at by the bosses for being useless. Had to practice translating spells until midnight. French guy was definitely hitting on me._

_Have I mentioned that I miss you?  
  
By the way, finally got my leave dates approved – I’m yours until January 2nd. I’ll be at the station on Thursday, platform 69.69 at 12:30. Don’t plan on getting anything done for the rest of the year. Except me, of course.  
  
I hope the research is going well?  
  
xx  
  
Ross_

_PS: You keep saying you envy me the all the snow, so I’m sending you an early Christmas present. Look out your window at midnight and hopefully you’ll see it._

*

Ross’ restless energy just about spills from the parchment. Jim grins, anticipation rising at the idea of seeing him soon – it’s been a month since his last visit. Now that Jim is studying the behavior of residual magic in dis-enchanted muggle objects here at Amsterdam’s Wizarding College for Advance Studies, they can only manage infrequent, short visits.

But for Christmas, they would have a whole ten days. And Jim has worked extra hard to clear his schedule for Ross’ entire stay. He doesn’t plan on doing anything, except for what has Ross suggested in his letter.

Maybe a stroll along the canals, if they need fresh air at some point?

Maybe.

*

Intrigued by Ross’ post-script, Jim opens the attic window at midnight, leaning against the narrow wooden frame and staring into the clear night over the streets of Amsterdam. The timing is weird - he doubts Ross would be able to send Dust Bunny back with another delivery so soon. Maybe a different owl? What kind of an early present was Ross referring to anyway, that could be related to snow? The only thing Jim can think of is a snow globe, he’d seen some with perpetual snowfall in Diagon Alley once. Or a maybe it’s a package containing actual snow, enchanted so it wouldn’t melt along the way?

A few minutes past midnight, Jim has still not spotted anything, no approaching owls or any other sort of delivery. But the air is pleasantly cool on his face at the open window, and he thinks he can stay a bit longer, looking out just in case. But he’s not too bothered if nothing shows up. Maybe whatever Ross had in mind didn’t pan out – it could be late, or Ross ended up not having time.

He’s about to close the window when a snowflake flutters past his window, and then another.

Jim looks up and sees, to his amazement, hundreds and hundreds of snowflakes now descending down from the sky, swirling above the trees and the canal. They softly settle on windowsills and land on bicycles tied to the canal rails, on boats and tree branches and the sidewalks.

In pure amazement, Jim double-checks the sky, but it’s still the same as before: clear and dark, a star twinkling here and there despite the city’s lights blocking most of the starlight.

And then Jim smiles, and thinks of Ross, that devious bastard, using magic to send snow up from the Alps just for Jim.

He leans out, arm extended, and a snowflake settles on his open palm. It’s cold, much colder than the air outside. It won’t last long before melting, but still, he brings it up close up to his face and studies its crystalline shape.

In awe, he realizes that it’s that of a heart.

*

He watches the snowfall for another hour, waiting for it to stop. It tapers off a little at one point but then keeps going, and Jim shakes his head at it, at Ross’ antics, grinning the entire time until his cheeks hurt.

 _You crazy fool, I love you,_ he thinks back towards the south, as if Ross could possibly hear it.

*

Ross’ train, red and black and mud-speckled, rumbles and huffs into the Amsterdam station with just a five-minute delay. Ross jumps out, restless energy and purpose propelling him forward as always. His cloak billows around and behind him; with one hand he clutches a suitcase and the other curves towards the back of Jim’s neck as soon as they are within reach of each other. Ross can barely stop smiling long enough to kiss Jim.

“Did my surprise work? Did you like it?” Ross asks eagerly. He grins, mischievous, looking pleased with himself.

“It sure worked, I’m loving every minute of it,” Jim replies innocently. Ross doesn’t catch on to that little hint; from this close he smells like the mountains, like the hot chocolate he’d probably had on the train. With each inhale Jim’s mind runs through all the things he wants to do to him later. But first, Ross is in for a surprise of his own.

At first when they step outside, Ross is too busy to notice, shrinking his suitcase so that they can ride to Jim’s apartment on the enchanted bicycles they have rented from a witch by the platform exit.

But just as he tucks away his wand, a snowflake flutters down onto his black cloak’s sleeve. Ross smiles at it at first, as if recalling a sweet memory. Then he frowns, squinting to take a closer look.

Then, “what the hell-?”

Jim has to bite his cheek hard not to burst out laughing as he tracks horror, amazement, and confusion all parade across Ross’ perfectly expressive features.

Ross casts a wide-eyed gaze around the street, where a few inches of accumulated snow lay, where stray snowflakes are still falling down now and then. He takes it all in and then shuts his eyes for a moment, hands going into his hair in bewilderment. “Oh shit, this is – this is still from the spell I sent?!”

Jim stops biting his cheek and lets out that laugh he’s been holding back. “Oh yes. It was all over the Muggle news yesterday morning.”

Ross blanches. “Merlin’s beard, I meant for it to snow just on your block, for an hour or so! I didn’t mean to cause a calamity!”

“Bah, Amsterdam’s used to getting a few inches of snow every now and then. It’s more the snowflake shape and the lack of clouds what raised some questions,” Jim chuckles. A few of the snowflakes in question are now perched in Ross’ hair and he’s so gorgeous and dumb, Jim wants to take him to bed already.

Ross’s hands slide down to cover his face. “Merlin’s balls, I’m a fucking idiot – why didn’t you send an owl when it didn’t stop?!?”

“It seemed to be tapering off the first night,” Jim shrugs, unconcerned. “And the Dutch magical ministry quickly conjured up some clouds as soon as it was reported. What muggles discussed the most was the shape – they think it’s either a freak occurrence or some kind of a divine sign.”

“Divine sign, my ass…” Ross shakes his head in bewilderment. “I swear I was just trying to send up a bit of snow to you, and I tweaked the spell a little…“ He uncovers his face, and he’s red and flustered and Jim just wants to kiss it all off.

“The heart was a nice touch,” he laughs. “And it _was_ a decent spell, even if the duration of it and the location were a bit off-”

“A bit?! Gah, if they trace this spell back to me…” Ross groans. “I hope I’m not going to end up in Azkaban over this.”

Jim cackles. “What? Nah. I won’t let them take you.” He leans into Ross, puts both arms around his neck. “Maybe don’t mess with snow anymore, though.”

“No, I’m done, I promise.”

“It was a cool surprise,” Jim offers.

“Too cool, maybe?” Ross grumbles, but a small smile tugs at his lips.

“Not everyone’s boyfriend makes it snow hearts for them. Plus I’ve had a whole day and a half to think about the many ways in which I can express my appreciation of the gesture.” He gives Ross a meaningful look.

That wipes the rest of the consternation right off Ross’ face. “Oh, and how many ways did you come up with?” he says, his voice suddenly lower, more eager. Merlin, Jim wants him, now – thank goodness for enchanted bikes that will get them home in a hot minute.

“I’m not telling,” he stalls, then winks. “But I think you’ll find them all very pleasant.”

“I’m sure I will.” Breathless now, Ross kisses Jim quick and hard, holding him close, and Jim can feel Ross’ firm, responsive body beneath all the layers of winter clothing. It’s all Jim can do to not start peeling off all those winter layers right here.

But Ross did already cause a magical, city-wide snow event, so better not add public indecency charges to his list of offenses.

“Get on your bike, then, before the Dutch ministry comes chasing after you,” Jim pokes Ross’ hard stomach with his finger, unable to resist a tease. “I better show you some of that appreciation before they catch on to you.”

Ross smirks, but he doesn’t release Jim just yet. “Mmm, sounds like I’ll at least have some nice memories to live off of if I do get sent to Azkaban.”

There’s that spark in Ross’ eyes again and Jim can’t wait to fuel it even more. “Idiot. Just get that divine arse of yours on your bike already.”

Ross laughs and releases his hold on Jim. They mount their bikes and murmur their spells, and pull out into the snowy street.

*

When Ross is finally sprawled naked on top of Jim’s covers, when Jim climbs over him and bends down to kiss along his spine, they don’t think of ministry chases or Azkaban or spells getting traced anymore.

Outside the closed attic window, heart-shaped snowflakes still tumble down here and there, settling quietly on the city. Until finally, the last one falls.


	5. The Empress' Elite Guards Contest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written for last year's event - Gathering 12 days 2019. I realized I never put it on AO3 so I'm adding it now to have all the stories in one place.

Ross could not quite believe it. The Cornish Renegades had signed up for the Empress’ Elite Guard Contest on a whim, right after Ross had taken the section over. They’d never expected to place high or really stand a chance against some of the troops that had competed for many years now; and yet.

And yet they’d not only held their ground, a bunch of rough-hewn, freshly trained guards with regulation-defying beards; they’d held their own and went on to receive a special recognition. On top of that, they had been invited to stay in the Empress’ palace for the next two months, to train and serve as guards for the Empress’ guests.

It was more than Ross ever thought they’d achieve, and it still felt like a dream.

But despite the success and the attention Ross had received as the captain of the Renegades, despite the dazzling, winterberry-decked palace halls and white snow falling outside as if in a fairytale; despite the rich food and free-flowing drink, Ross couldn’t shake an encroaching feeling of bitterness.

He smiled tensely at the marquise who was currently regaling him with a tale of a wild hunt, then let his eyes wander over the festive hall. It looked exactly as he’d imagined all the storybook palaces would look when his mother used to read stories to him about nutcrackers and rat kings and giant glowing Christmas trees. And though the whimsical characters were missing from this particular setting, the clusters of shiny red and white baubles hanging from the arched ceiling above them, the candlelight flickering from dozens of sconces on every column, the tall and ornament-laden Christmas trees in each of the four corners made the place look like a yuletide dream.

But none of it seemed able to dispel the disquiet that had crept into Ross’ soul shortly after arriving to the capital. Precisely, it had begun the minute Ross had laid eyes on a certain Captain Hawkins.

The man intrigued and attracted him from the start, even more so after Ross got together the courage to speak to him. Handsome and confident, Captain Hawkins had twice led his men to victory in the Empress’ Contest, and was certain they could do it for the third and final time in a row.

He had been right: the Santa Lucia Dragoons were announced as the victors of this years contest a mere hour ago.

No one had accomplished that before.

Shortly afterwards, Ross had spotted Captain Hawkins speaking to the Empress, laughing at something she was saying. Ross could hardly tear his eyes away, despite the fact that for the past three days he had been trying to not let the man distract him too much.

It was not working. And now Ross was scanning the hall for a glimpse of that handsome face, those blue eyes, the red uniform cut perfectly to fit his sculpted shoulders and chest. But Captain Hawkins was nowhere to be seen, which was no wonder: he was the man of the hour and many people wanted to snag his attention. But Ross’ mind kept going back to the earlier moment and he wondered, yet again, if the rumors were true that the Empress liked to take members of the winning guard troops as lovers.

The pang of irrational jealousy that shot through Ross was stronger than ever now that he knew Captain Hawkins was to remain in the capital for another full year.

He threw back the rest of his spiced punch, mindful not to spill any of the dark liquid on his pristine white uniform. He was just about to make his excuses to the noble who seemed on the verge of launching into another long-winded hunting story; one Ross hardly had the patience or enough polite upbringing to tolerate. As he was waiting for an opening in the noble’s stream of words when he heard his name spoken just behind his own back.

“Captain Poldark.”

A shiver of excitement ran up Ross’ spine. He knew immediately who it was: he and Captain Hawkins had had numerous semi-bickering, semi-flirtatious exchanges over the past three days, and the man’s melodious voice was now stuck in Ross’ head like an unexpected guest deciding to move permanently in at a moment’s notice.

Paying no more heed to the rambling noble, Ross turned around, hardly caring if he might appear too eager.

Captain Hawkins’ eyes were sparkling, and he looked more at ease than Ross had seen him so far. The stress of the competition having lifted, the victory for his troop gained, the man now looked positively radiant and exuberant, and Ross found him even more attractive than ever.

“Captain Hawkins.” He tried to sound gruff and self-possessed, but was afraid he was failing miserably. “Thank you for sparing me the trouble of finding you in order to congratulate you and your men.”

“That was not exactly my motive for finding you,” Hawkins replied, a small smile playing on his lips. “Though I accept the congratulations. I am here to offer the same to you on your unexpected and well-deserved honor.”

“Unexpected is the word,” Ross nodded in acknowledgment. “Thank you. I am gratified that my men earned it.”

“I dare say you blew away most of us with the forms you performed today. For a moment there, I was worried my men might not win after all this year.”

Ross huffed a laugh. “I would like to believe that.”

“Well,” Captain Hawkins shrugged. “Let’s say I was a little less sure.”

“But still quite sure,” Ross teased. “And you were not wrong, it turns out.”

A smile was offered in reaction, and then it disappeared, to be replaced by a rather cautious expression. It was not one Ross was accustomed to seeing on Captain Hawkins’ face.

“Could I trouble you for a chat in the courtyard?” Captain Hawkins said, and Ross felt his eyebrows rise in surprise. He fought to mask it, even as he tried to run through possible reasons why Hawkins would ask that.

“Of course.”

He followed in Hawkins’ footsteps towards one of the veranda doors that lead outside. Gentle snowfall greeted them, and Ross watched, mesmerized, as it covered the winterberry bushes with a new layer of white powder.

Their footsteps made fresh imprints in the snow. Captain Hawkins stopped under a lamp post, leaning against it and looking up at Ross, whose heart was now at war between jealous thoughts and hopeful ones. What did the Captain wish to speak to him about? Perhaps Ross wasn’t the only one who’d been feeling this attraction between them? Or had Captain Hawkins been the Empress’ lover in the previous years? Was he still?

He waited, heart climbing into his throat as he watched a flock of snowflakes settle on top of Captain Hawkins’ short-cropped hair.

Finally, Captain Hawkins looked him directly in the eye. “I wished to address some rumors which usually go around the barracks at this time.”

“Rumors?” Ross said numbly, not sure now he wanted to hear the truth –

“Rumors about the Empress paying a certain kind of attention to the members of the winning guard troop, particularly the captains.”

“I see.” Ross wished he could come up with a more intelligent answer, but if there was one, it insisted on escaping him.

“I wish to tell you that – that those rumors are often true,” Captain Hawkins said, then paused, and Ross’ heart sank. So his hopes truly had been in vain, and what was more, he had been obvious enough for Captain Hawkins to notice and feel the need to comment on it –

Captain Hawkins inclined his head, his eyes almost amused at Ross’ reaction. “But I also wished to tell you that these rumors do not apply to me.”

Ross stared at him for a moment, until Captain Hawkins laughed. “And while I’m at it, would you please call me by my given name, Captain Poldark?”

“You mean - James?” Ross croaked as he slowly clawed his way back to his senses, remembering Hawkins’ full name from the first day’s announcements.

“Indeed, but I prefer to be called Jim.”

Ross blinked and nodded and then made a wayward gesture with his arm. “So you – you’ve – you have not been the empress’ lover?”

“I have not,” Jim replied simply, “and I do not intend to change that. My interests, so to speak, lie elsewhere.” His eyes were now boring into Ross’, and the implication was so clear, that Ross blushed.

“Oh - I - well. In that case, I shall like to -“ he started to say, but then veranda door banged open, and a group of exuberant, punch-fortified soldiers spilled out onto the lawn, laughing and somersaulting in the snow. Ross paused and glanced towards them, suddenly unwilling to continue the conversation where it might be overheard.

Jim’s eyes conveyed understanding. “Should your interests lie in a similar direction, I shall like to discuss them with you further at your leisure. I rent a small house in the Old Quarter; a charming old thing, painted red and walls three feet thick. Perhaps we could speak there?”

The jealousy and bitterness Ross had felt were gone, all of his uncertainty evaporating with them. It left him almost giddy. “I am free as soon as this to-do is over. I do not yet know my schedule for the next two months if this evening doesn’t work, but-”

“This evening works very well for me,” Jim assured him, a glint of something akin to eagerness in his blue gaze.

“Then perhaps would you give me your address?” Ross asked, barely containing his own eagerness, ready to walk out of the empress’ party at this very minute even if he knew that would be highly improper.

“I doubt you would find it without my assistance. The Old Quarter is rather confusing.” Jim smiled, and his confidence was showing again. “Now that the competition is over, I shall not like to waste another minute.”

Ross felt searing warmth go through him, of the massive attraction he’d felt towards Jim, of anticipation. “I second that sentiment. Shall we meet here at midnight?”

“Thirty to eleven would be better.” Jim leaned infinitesimally closer. “I look forward to getting to know you quite well, Captain Poldark. Though –“ he grinned, “you have the advantage of knowing my first name, and I dislike falling behind.”

“Ross Poldark, at your service,” Ross offered, grinning back.

“Well met, _Ross_.” Now Jim’s eyes were positively mischievous. “And may I add, your service is very much desired.”

The way Jim said his name - Ross was sure the snow around him on the ground would start melting soon. “As long as I may request your service in return,” he stated, entirely too formally, and Jim grinned harder.

“Oh, indeed,” he trilled. “I thought you'd never ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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